


Risk & Reward

by i_said_goddameron



Category: Triple Frontier (2019)
Genre: Bondage, Clothed Sex, Drinking, Exhibitionism, F/M, Mentions of drugs and violence, Oral, Pantyhose Fetish, Power Imbalance, Spanking, Voyeurism, unprotected
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-15
Updated: 2019-07-15
Packaged: 2020-06-27 10:48:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19789309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_said_goddameron/pseuds/i_said_goddameron
Summary: Santiago wants to catch the deadliest cartel kingpin south of the equator. His beguiling new informant wants a way out. After a violent raid doesn’t go as planned, they both give in to what they really want.





	Risk & Reward

Everyone wants something; that’s the way of the world. The universal thread of existence is seeking, wanting. So Santiago doesn’t make a habit of asking his informants exactly what they want in the end. People rarely get the ending they desire, anyway.

Light hits the mirror ball overhead, exploding into shimmering disks across the skin of his latest informant. This one makes him uneasy. The informant stands to gain much from this arrangement, so he doesn’t bother asking exactly what is she seeks beyond the means to flee. What puts him on edge isn’t her sharp mind or her curved body; brazenly meeting in one of the many discotecas owned by the Lorea cartel was her idea.

Immediately, he could tell she was too smart for this, but she’s been in over her head for too long. It wasn’t Lorea himself who drew her into this life, just some low-level scumbag she fell for when she was still jail bait. But she was soon noticed by higher-ups, (how could they not, really?) and left the small time behind. She quickly acquired a taste for being on the arm of a powerful man.

She still likes it. She just wants her own power back. The cartel has owned that for a long time now.

Over the years, she’s been waiting for an opportunity to betray her boss, climbing the ranks, proving over and over her intellect rivaled even her good looks. Ever closer she got, eventually into his bed. Eventually into his trusted inner circle. Close enough to drive a dagger right into his back, with any luck.

For that, she’d need the resources of another powerful man. Santiago Garcia: American anti-cartel consultant to the Colombian DEA. A man she’d be happy to find in her own bed, with heavy eyes the deepest espresso and a voice even smoother. Life can’t be all strategy and survival, after all.

“We need to order a drink,” he says, just loud enough to be heard over the clattering percussion of the cumbia blasting through the speakers. A warm hand is on her lumbar as they navigate past the throng of dancers reveling, straight to the bar.

“Good idea.”

”What do you like?”

”You decide,” she answers. It’s not a blasé dismissal and it’s not meek. There’s almost a challenge in it.

It hits him, like a bodyslam. The way her breathing seems to respond to him when he takes charge, the way her eyes become rounder. Even something as simple as deciding to take an action then following through. Her desires aren’t all benign… but let’s face it; his aren’t exactly either.

Santiago waves at the bartender, ordering two double shots of Aguardiente. He assumes that’s what she likes, at least everyone else in Colombia seems to. Neither he nor the informant touch the drinks after they arrive. A beat passes and Santi wonders if she’s expecting to toast or something. Her look expectant and flirtatious when he meets those intense eyes. Interesting. Running his index finger along the rim of the shot glass, he fixes his eyes on her. “After you.”

Coy smile playing on her lips, she looks bashful for a moment. As if a woman like this ever feels bashful. But she likes that Santi granted her permission. As if a woman like this needs would need permission to do a thing. The column of her throat is elegant as she tosses the drink back, pink tongue darting out to collect the moisture on her lip after she pulls the glass away, looking up at Santi with a face that seemed to expect his approval.

Filthy thoughts swirl in his mind. Like the fact that she probably looks just like this right after sucking cock, those eyes containing false modesty as she awaits well-earned praise. She didn’t grimace at the aniseed flavor or the alcoholic burn; must swallow.

This situation isn’t without precedent, he reminds himself as he frantically searches for any excuse to indulge in this tryst, but misconduct only complicates things. 

Her gaze sweeps across the bar curving behind him. There’s a couple there, obnoxious and loudly laughing even over the beat of the music, but she ignores them and leans in closer. Santiago notices. He also noticed the couple had inched one barstool closer since sitting down and that didn’t bode well. After all, the Lorea cartel owns this club. His eyes narrow. Her hand curls around his bare forearm, and she receives a jolt of courage. While the informant is there for many perfectly valid reasons, at this moment her motivation is simply wanting to please Santiago.

Danger excites her, he can see that. It’s what got her into this mess. It’s what’s going to help Santiago take down her boss. It’s what’s going to either dictate her liberation or demise.

“Pretend we’re flirting,” he says coolly, finally taking his own shot.

“We’re not already?” Feigned innocence on her face, she looks at Santi with rounded eyes that would almost look hurt if not for the gleam in them.

Flirting isn’t all he wants. He wants much, much more. But what he needs is information, access. An insider with more courage than the entire top shelf of the bar could contain.

What Santi needs is to protect her. She’s invaluable.

What he wants is to grind against her on that dance floor, hands sliding recklessly higher up her thigh until she’d turn to scold him with a playful push against his sternum. They could kiss in an alley on the walk back to her place on Calle Rosa and—

There are eyes on him. Not just hers. Santi’s mind doesn’t drift far; he remembers why he’s meeting his lovely informant in a smoky nightclub. Years of Black Ops work honed his ability to have tunnel vision when it came to the mission but tonight his hormones betray him.

A couple colorful pesos are left on the bar top in case they need to make a hasty exit.

“We’re being watched. So, we need to really sell it-“he pauses to slowly move a stray strand of hair from her forehead, his espresso eyes never wavering. He can’t afford to look again yet, not that he wants to- “and that means more contact.” Santiago swears she tilts her head slightly against his knuckle as it grazes the skin.

Crossing her legs, she whispers in his ear, painfully aware of the way he appears to shudder when her breath fans against it. “Tuesday, he’s meeting with the brothers.”

And now we get to what Santiago wants.

What he really, really wants.

Santiago’s mouth has been watering for the Villaseñor Brothers for years. Not quite as long as his informant’s employer but taking them down was still one of his main objectives. And it’ll be an instrumental step. One of his hands finds its way to her knee as their cheeks brush.

“What time?”

Another cumbia ignites the dance floor, and the couple just past him exclaims. The young man with a goatee whips his companion from her barstool and she clatters to her feet in 3.5 inch heels. Their jubilation sounds authentic and drunken, but Santi doesn’t buy it. They are even closer now, the woman sifting her hips as she finishes her drink. Inching even closer. Eavesdropping.

The informant senses it, or she’s picking up on his energy. Dunes of wrinkles form across her forehead and while her eyes are trained on his, her attention is peripheral.

“Nonsense!” Santiago laughs, trying to diffuse the tension around them, “You’re an amazing dancer! Don’t be shy!”

The informant smirks knowingly. He has seen her dance- on the lap of Gabriel Lorea, the most lethal kingpin south of the Equator- because she’s just bold enough to have planted a camera in his office.

—-

Santiago didn’t decide he was going to do anything about his attraction to his lovely informant until she handed him the pinhole camera she’d managed to sneak into Lorea’s office. Something in her eyes when she made the handoff instantly sent a shot of adrenaline straight below his belt. At the time, he’d figured she was just flirting and wouldn’t dare stray in loyalty from the cartel leader.

Then again, here she was, sliding a small nylon bag with a pinhole recorder into the pocket of an American… tombo or “consultant” or whatever the Hell he called himself, he was the enemy. People like her are supposed to run from people like him. 

The intention in her expression became clear when he reviewed the hidden video with a group of local police. A few hours of footage was crunching numbers and arranging deliveries, normal stuff. When Lorea called her in and their voices went low, Santi sat up in his chair. When she leaned her body across Lorea’s desk and began kissing him, Santiago knew exactly what that expression at the hand-off was about. Murmurs broke out between the group, some much more subtle than others.

“This from your personal stash, Garcia?”

“Wait for it,” he promised. Santi was no better than them; he just put on a professional scowl and kept his thoughts to himself as a rush of protectiveness overcame him.

Breath ragged, he watched a beautiful woman climb atop the lap of a ruthless murderer- the man he wanted nothing more than to execute- unbutton her blouse and rub her supple tits across his face… Her blouse fell to the desk, and as the metaphorically blood-stained fingers of Lorea made their way to the clasp of her bra, the informant looked straight at the camera with a smile.

It was just for Santiago. Their secret.

The wide, leather chair Lorea was enjoying himself in swiveled, obscuring the view of the hidden camera as the informant’s head lowered. Surprisingly, the collective whoosh is air as the roomful of officers let out simultaneous scoffs and awkward laughs of disappointment didn’t send the stack of reports flying off the main detective’s desk. A blessing really because Santiago’s half-mast erection was a distraction from crucial work. Still, he internally cursed at the monitor.

“Christ, are we really gonna—“ One of the senior officers muttered, red-faced.

”Here,” a finger hovered over the left portion of the frame, where her hand seemed to pull a notebook closer toward herself for a moment before she sat up. Right in full view of Lorea. This woman was brazen: it both frightened and exhilarated him.

“He never leaves his calendar out. She’s distracting him.”

Agreements of ‘can she distract me, too?’ and ‘I could use a bit of distraction’ came from the group and Santi finally smiled. She had to have known it would be seen by most of the agency. Even though it sent an odd jolt of defensiveness over him- wanting her to himself, really- he knew she sought the attention. On the screen, her index and middle finger split, and then she tapped the page twice. “The V is the signal for the Villaseñors. Two taps, meaning they meet in two days. Get eyes on them now.”

”Your girl’s really something, Garcia,” the senior detective muttered as he turned away, one hand awkwardly smoothing over his mustache. 

Sure was.

After work that night, Santiago Garcia went back to the small rental on the outskirts of the town and jerked off thinking of bending his informant over the zebrawood-inlaid desk of Lorea’s palatial jungle home.

——

Submission is like lingerie to her, something to put on when the mood strikes. A choice. While she’s smart, Santiago’s informant had an illustrious track record of bad choices. It shouldn’t have been a surprise when she didn’t listen to him. Somehow, he’d let that sultry little pout convince him he was in control- a potentially deadly mistake for everyone involved.

“You should never have been there!” Santiago barks, a residual burn in his lungs from running in the Andean elevation after the Villaseñor raid went sideways. “I warned you.”

”And what’s it to you? So long as you have what you need—“

”You have no idea what this man is capable of.”

”Actually, I do! I’m there in the house; you think I don’t hear what goes on?” Her hands fly into the air in annoyance.

Still wearing his clothes from the raid, Santiago stands before her in a hunter green button-down and jeans that would make her send up a thank you prayer to the ghost of Levi Strauss if she wasn’t so annoyed. His olive tactical vest is covered in pockets and the radio on his shoulder was shut off a half mile before he arrived. He snuck into the bedroom window of her home on Calle Rosa as soon as he was able to tear himself away from the chaos of the discoteca, on false pretenses to the rest of his team.

Wearing this here- being here at all- is against his own personal policy, meant to protect her, which includes a.) No real names. b.) No calls from landlines. c.) No attachments.

Running a hand through his short, grey-dusted curls, he sighs. They can’t afford to burn this informant- not when they’re this close to Lorea, so he softens. Maybe if reminds her of what he’s seen in the field, he’ll scare enough sense into her to take his direction seriously. None of this bullshit. “Follow instructions or you’re dead. Pointe-blank.”

”I think you like telling me what to do,” the informant quips. Santiago remains quiet, pulse pounding in his neck so hard she can see it. Her voice drops low because she knows she’s right. “Admit it. Part of you likes to scold me.”

”I’m trying to keep you alive.”

Slowly, her bottom lip pulls inward, bitten softly like a papaya just before the skin breaks. And Santiago imagines she’s just as delicious as one, imagines juices dribbling down his chin as his dexterous tongue goes to work. Hazel eyes meet his and her look is even sweeter as she realizes there’s no denying what she wants.

How could Santiago possibly deny her, anyway? He’s caught in the crosshairs, his position of authority a glorified role play at this point and they both know it.

The gap between them bridged, she’s pulling on his collar now. Closer. Closer. Gunpowder and dust linger in his nostrils, yet he can still make out notes of citrus as the informant’s mouth finds his ear. She sucks the lobe and his self control takes a much-needed vacation. 

Santiago’s suspected this since their first meeting and it was all but confirmed when he reviewed the hidden camera footage of her straddling Lorea before shedding her bra and gyrating. Sure, when a man like that takes interest in you, it’s risky to turn him down, and winning his trust would be crucial to her escape… but she liked it. Santi knew it. Greed and love of the thrill is what got her here, but lust was the weakness digging her grave fastest.

Submission to powerful and dangerous men was her drug of choice, even with access to anything in Lorea’s distribution chain.

Brows dropped sternly, Santi crosses his arms. He’s lethal, though not overly muscular or even imposing. He’s a soldier; it doesn’t matter that he’s supposed to be retired now, the aura has stayed with him. It’s what he’ll always be. Even in the nude, darkness around his eyes and tension in his jaw give away his intimacy with death. A living shadow. But Santiago isn’t nude. Despite the fact that they’re both fully dressed, that he hasn’t even kissed her yet, that he’s barely touched her ever, they’re both panting.

“Get on the bed,” he demands. “Hand and knees.”

The sheen of her pantyhose on the backs of her thighs is like a quickening- he’s hard the moment her palms touch the bed. The informant purrs and arches her back for him, hands on the mattress as her ass lifts high. He saunters to the edge, kneading her calves and the soles of her feet. Beads of sweat cluster on the nape of his neck, he feels one trickle down. The sensation disappears when it reaches the strip of scar tissue across his 4th vertebrae.

Legs spread, her short skirt is forced upward and barely adequate to cover her. A guttural approval is earned as she shimmies her ass. When he flips it up, his cock somehow grows even harder.

Gorgeous round ass, covered in sheer black hose. A g-string nested between, the white color peeking out barely. “Good girl,” he mutters. “But you still need to be taught a lesson.”

He doesn’t want to think about her job, but he can’t help it: Lorea’s secretary. Confidante. Based on how comfortable the two looked together during his reconnaissance, definitely Lover. He thinks about the very real possibility of her on her knees of the jungle estate in that same outfit. Giving Lorea the same pout she gave Santi in the discoteca. Some competitive part of him likes the idea of bedding Lorea’s mistress. He wants to make her moan louder. Come harder. Put the cartel kingpin to shame by thoroughly fucking his favorite little side piece.

Trust is practically a dirty word in this profession, but Santiago thinks of it, too. He’s vulnerable in this position- albeit not as much as she, here on her knees with ass aloft. He has to trust her if they’re gonna do this.

Pouting, she turns over her shoulder to watch him. “I’m sorry.”

Santiago doesn’t really believe in being sorry- he tends not to live with regrets, knowing each day can be his last- but he wants to hear her whimper it.

Sorry is meaningless to a bullet, whether stray or directed right at your head. Santiago knows that all too well, as does she. Desperate pleas for mercy followed by a bang and a thump against the exotic hardwood floor weren’t unknown to her. The jungle doesn’t care about sorry, either. All it knows is death and survival. Risk and reward.

With a swing of his open hand, a crisp smack breaks the momentary silence a fraction of a second before she moans in response. Pantyhose-covered feet in the air, her toes curl with the impact.

_Smack_

Keening, she bites her lip as the sting permeates deep. He rubs soothing circles into her skin for a moment but his eyes remain intense.

_Smack_

“Mmmmmm… What do I call you?” she asks after the last blow. “Sir? Or your name? What’s your name?”

He hesitates, dark eyes swimming with the thrill. She can’t know it. They have to trust each other with their lives, and they’re about to trust each other with their bodies, but it’s much more taboo than what they are about to do. “Pope. My name’s Pope. Do you still want this?”

”Te deseo,” she whines as she buries her face into a pillow. _I want you._ She’s welting under those hose, each one of his fingers seared into her skin under the sheer fabric. Claiming it, at least temporarily. ”Damelo duro.” _Give it to me rough._

Fuck hesitation.

He smoothes both palms across her ass, feeling heat radiate from where his blows landed, before he digs his fingertips into the center seam of her hose. With a loud rip, they split down the middle. A shudder vibrates through her at the sensation of being dominated. Exposed.

Impatient fingers tug her panties to one side, and his index finger skims over the slick groove between the puffy lips. Her scent is primal and warm. Santi decides she’s not nearly open enough and tears the sheer hose more. A feral animal, his heart slams against his ribcage as she gasps. 

A smirk slowly crosses his face. He’s got a terrible idea. He’s sick for considering this sexy after the violent events of the day- much less with her. Santiago can appreciate she’s likely to be sensitive to the suggestion of arrest given the circumstances. This could backfire spectacularly but he decided to gamble: “How much do you trust me?”

”I… I trust you.”

“You didn’t even know my name ‘til a second ago,” he snorts. Santiago is still wearing those jeans that squeeze him in all the right places but they’re unbearably tight now. He adjusts himself first, and then decides to just pull it out completely and lazily stroke it.

“We both know I still don’t know your name.”

Touché.

“Can’t believe I’m about to fuck a tombo,” she mutters, joining the sound of his zipper coming down and the rustle of fabric as he lowers his pants just enough.

“Only if you want to.” He’s not exactly a narc, or police even, but he’s suddenly very aware of their power imbalance again. She answers by turning over her shoulder and kissing him. His lips are softer than she’d imagined. There’s tenderness to his kiss she wasn’t expecting. His hands find their way into her hair and he offers her a preview of what his tongue is capable of. Precision is a requisite for his work, and in Santiago’s experience that precision set transfers to cunnilingus and kissing. He’s excited but he never gets sloppy, seducing her with the curled tip as his fingers slip under the hem of her blouse to cup her perky tits.

“Ask what you were gonna ask, Pope.”

”Do you like it, being dominated?”

She nods as he rubs a nipple to attention. 

”Tell me if you want to stop, anytime.”

”Spit it out already.”

Santiago retrieves a bundle of zip ties from a pocket of his vest and holds them up with a raised brow.

Uncertainty flashes across her features, but she wants him. Against every last shred of good judgment, she wants him. And she’s used to getting what she wants. “Okay.”

Wordlessly, he turns and crosses her wrists at the small of her back. She’s putting so much trust in him, he almost feels guilty. He makes sure to keep it loose. A soft plastic crank binds her hands and she waits, sheer black hose split open to reveal the moist white fabric between her legs. Staring at him, she rests her head sideways on the mattress.

And she waits. 

Pleased with his work, Santiago purses his lips and begins to pump his length. Pulling her panties aside, he sends her quivering with a single agonizing lick from her clit… dipping into the softness of her slit and staying a while to explore… to her puckered ass. She cries out as his tongue flattens and pulses. Salt and pepper stubble grits against the supple, hairless lips as he sucks and probes deep, all the while working himself.

“Puh…. Po— Mmmmhhh!”

Pathetically needy, she raises her ass against his face. Santiago devours her with the erotic desperation of a man who knows this may be the last time he’ll ever touch a woman. His teeth scrape against the slick lining and she flinches at first. When he tries it again, she allows it, squirming at the sensation of his tooth’s edge skimming labia. Either she’s trying to gasp his handle or she’s attempting to beg please. It’s all the same, though, he supposes. She’s been giving him exactly what he wants. She’s the key to nabbing Lorea and he needs to take care of her. So it’s only fair to reciprocate.

Santi climbs onto the bed and yanks her closer. Unceremoniously, he drives his cock into the aching wetness and somehow she feels better than he imagined. Adrenaline must be heightening his senses; sex is always best with a side of danger. The informant startles, back arching before she relaxes into his penetration with a sinful moan. She’s inconceivably soft and tight… and she wants him to destroy her.

“Oooh!” She gasps, pushing against him as he slides deeper into her perfect body. “Cógeme fuerte!” _Fuck me hard!_

Another brutal thrust and his hand is around one of her bound wrists, yanking them toward him for leverage as he pounds into her from behind. Biting her lip to muffle a scream, she accepts him deeper. He pauses at the shrill noise for a split second, afraid he’d actually hurt or frightened her. When her head turns flat against the mattress, she looks Santi square in the eye. And that sweet mouth, tangled between her teeth, lifts into the filthiest smirk he’s ever seen. Powerless she is not. This girl could be the death of him. Literally.

“You’re in no position to give orders,” Santiago responds with another harsh slap. Her ass is ridiculously hot in those torn hose. She’s still fully dressed, though disheveled and exposed. He doesn’t usually talk like this but it feels right. Her thighs quiver against him as an invitation to continue. “Are you?”

Mouth set in a cruel grimace, Santiago cuts off her answer. It starts as a vowel and transforms into a pleasured squeal as he wraps an arm around her chest and jerks her from face-down/ass-up to sit straight up on his cock. It’s a swift, athletic movement, and the complete penetration makes her melt around him in a loud orgasm. 

Pressure builds within him as he closes in on his own. Every time he manhandles her, the informant rewards him another roll of her hips, so he treats her like a toy. Her tits bounce and jump under her blouse as he sets a relentless pace. He’s not gonna harm her- he has no interest in going that far- but they deserve to enjoy this. It’s fun, playing this role. Besides, Santiago isn’t in a position to deny her, anyway. 

Changing position, he throws her onto the bed on her back, lifting both legs high into the air to put herself on full display. Bracing a thigh with one hand, Santiago kneels and guides his length into her. Mouth stretched open, she groans as he plunges in. Her hands are still at her lumbar as he thrusts, rough fingers digging into the pad of fat around her hips. That heady feeling is here, untethered from stress or thought as Santiago opens his mouth in a moan and lets go. Pulling out, he pushes her blouse up to come on her stomach. In the low light, a tiny jeweled ring glimmers from her navel, but all he can see is white in this moment. 

It takes him a couple cycles of breath to return. His stern eyes hold a much softer focus now, as they open to look at her. Legs splayed in ripped hose, blouse and skirt askew with a puddle of cum on her stomach and a satisfied haze in her expression. She’s lust embodied and he regrets not stripping off both their clothes.

Santi’s knees ache. They’ve ached since the run up those wretched stairs. They’ve ached since that mission in Venezuela, actually. He motions to her, and she turns to her side as he retrieves a pocketknife to free her from the cheap plastic restraint. Faint pink encircles her wrists, probably from when he grabbed her by them, but when his brows knit she rubs them and insists they don’t hurt. 

Both of them lie on her bed, still dressed. Instinct is telling him to leave. Now. But instead, he kisses her. He can’t just screw her like that and immediately take off. This level of vulnerability needs some aftercare. 

He strokes her hair as she watches the curtain lift in the breeze. A pang of anxiety twists his stomach as he realizes the bedroom window has been open the entire time. Who knows what’s been overheard. He zips his jeans up and closes it before returning to the informant’s side. 

“You owe me a new pair of stockings.”

Santiago responds with a small laugh. ”I owe you a Hell of a lot more than that. You’re getting out of here, soon.”

”My whole life, that’s what I’ve heard. Getting out. Francisco’s getting out, Maria’s getting out. People telling me I should get out.” 

“And you are. What you’re doing is very brave.”

Rolling the destroyed hose down her legs, she insists, ”No one gets out. Not alive.” The sheer fabric is balled up, used to wipe the mess off her stomach, then dropped on the floor next to her bed.

”If you stay smart and listen to me, you can.” She has a lot to fear, but the operation really needs her cooperation. They’re so close to Lorea and she’s so close to freedom from the cartel. “Will you listen to me? Please. I need you to trust me.”

Soon as he says it, he knows she probably hasn’t truly trusted anyone in years. Her protective silence all but confirms it. For all her appeal and charisma, he notices her loneliness for the first time. 

Why should she trust him anyway? He’s using her to get intel. She’s using him as an escape. They’re using each other for a fun, temporal distraction from the stress and horror of today’s raid. 

“Where are you going after this?” he asks. To his surprise, he’s genuinely curious. “What’s the plan?”

”For the first time, I have no plan,” the informant answers plainly. “No plan other than survive.”

”How does Australia sound?”

”Hot,” she smiles. 

”I have a feeling you can take the heat.” 

Their lips meet again, tenderness mixed with a different kind of subtle yearning. She wants Santi to stay, but they both know that’s impossible. He’s spent too much time here already. 

Pausing before he leaves, she taps on his chest in a short moment of internal conflict. “What’s your real name?”

”I can’t tell you that.”

“I don’t think I can trust you without it.”


End file.
